


What does it mean (if I tell you to go fuck yourself)

by orphan_account



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: M/M, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-14
Updated: 2019-10-14
Packaged: 2020-12-15 22:14:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21025577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Doyoungie did something bad. He talked carelessly. How should I scold him? Let’s decide one to four ways. One, a kiss. Two, a hug. Three, a pat on the head. Four, a smack on the bum. Please choose. What? Number five, all of the above? *laughs*





	What does it mean (if I tell you to go fuck yourself)

**Author's Note:**

> [the vlive ](https://www.vlive.tv/video/141639?channelCode=F3C16D)

Taeyong didn’t even see him walk in. Wasn’t paying any attention. He’s just biting into an everything bagel with smoked salmon spread and thinking about the video on his laptop when he’s attacked. The assault is swift, out of nowhere, transpires in the span of seconds. Taeyong thought it was just someone walking past him, but the culprit had stopped, swiftly leaned down, pecked him on the cheek and walked away. Some real secret agent manoeuvring. It was so quick it might as well have never happened. But Taeyong knows for a fact he’s just been kissed, because when he turns around the perpetrator is right there, casually making himself some instant coffee with his back turned. 

Taeyong licks the mixed seeds off his lips. 

“Rude,” he touches his cheek. “Why’d you do that.”

Doyoung turns around half way, glancing at Taeyong out of the corner of his eyes like he’s trying to communicate something. He turns back. Pours the water into his mug. Sets the kettle down and reaches into his hoodie pocket, comes over to place his phone down on the kitchen table in front of Taeyong, smiling. 

Taeyong leans in to squint. Takes a second to realize it’s Twitter open on the screen (he didn’t know Doyoung used dark mode). In the post is a video of himself, a vlive from the day before. It’s playing on mute, and the tweet itself is a transliteration of the clip. 

_ “Doyoungie did something bad. He talked carelessly. How should I scold him? Let’s decide one to four ways. One, a kiss. Two, a hug. Three, a pat on the head. Four, a smack on the bum. Please choose. What? Number five, all of the above? *laughs*” _

Taeyong looks up. Doyoung is leaning against the counter, holding his mug with his sleeves pulled over his hands. There’s a dubious smile on his face. Taeyong squints harder.

Doyoung nods at the screen. “I laughed.” 

Taeyong chuckles humorlessly. He remembers the comment. It was late, and he wasn’t really thinking of anything and had just said whatever. Of course fans would love it though, and of course Doyoung who ritualistically searched his name on social media day and night would happen across it. 

“Ha ha. Comedic gold. What, are you here to get punished?”

Doyoung blows at his coffee. He locks eyes with Taeyong, smiling. He tilts his head to the right a little bit. It’s his elusive left face. With a finger, he taps his cheek three times. 

Taeyong scoffs. “Are you serious?”

Doyoung takes a sip. It’s still too hot to drink. Ouch. 

“You haven’t given me a _ bbobbo _ today.”

“Uh, yeah,” Taeyong makes the effort of looking down at his nonexistent watch. “It’s like 7 in the morning.”

Doyoung sticks out his lips. They curve up at the corners obstinately. He taps his cheek again. “Well, prince. Wake me up with a kiss.”

Long and slow, Taeyong sighs. 

Begrudgingly, he brushes off his crumby hands. Hands on his knees, he has to work his lazy joints. Gets up with the vitality of a grandpa and the willpower of someone who wants to sit down. Drags his socked feet across the floorboards until he’s standing face to face with Doyoung, the mug of coffee steaming between them.

Doyoung is beaming. Taeyong glares at him.

“Put it down,” he orders, hands on his hips.

Doyoung does.

“Come here.” 

Doyoung bends down just the slightest, leaning his face down and closing his eyes. 

Taeyong frowns at his spreading grin. Doyoung is enjoying this way too much. It’s too early in the day to deal with his shit. He doesn’t have the physical or mental energy for this tomfoolery. All of this makes him want to roll his eyes.

With a sigh, he cranes his neck up. Tugs Doyoung down by the front of his hoodie. Lines his lips up with his cheek, and gives his peck right back to him.

Doyoung straightens. Taeyong almost expects him to say thank you. He’s ready to go back to his breakfast, but Doyoung catches his elbow when he turns.

“Where are you going?” He sticks out his arms for a hug. His eyes are twinkling with mischief. “We’re not done yet?”

Taeyong hates him. “Really, Dongyoung?”

“You said it.” Doyoung’s grin makes Taeyong want to clamp down on his cheeks until his lips puff out like a fish. “C’mon. Number two.”

Taeyong wets his lip. Then, reluctantly, he reaches forward and steps into the embrace.

Doyoung’s arms wrap around him gently. His hands are itching to tickle Doyoung’s sides like he deserves. What stops him, Taeyong doesn’t know. Instead, his own arms go slack in a circle around his waist. Taeyong finds his own head falling onto Doyoung’s shoulder. 

Doyoung all bundled up in his big hoodie is warm and soft to hold. This is not bad. This is nice. 

“Good morning.” Doyoung whispers, smiling beatifically. 

“Mm,” Taeyong answers, his own eyes falling closed.

Seconds pass. The birds outside on the branches are chirping. They breathe into each other’s collars, breaths fanning across the tender skin of each other’s necks. 

Not good, Taeyong thinks. He had forgotten entirely how much he likes their hugs. Doyoung holds him so gently and so surely it feels like everything could be okay, even if the sky was falling down. Taeyong feels himself really relax. He could almost fall asleep here, _ has _, before. He doesn’t want to right now, because Doyoung is being cheeky and he should be a little bit more annoyed. Damn him for lulling him into requiescence.

With a sigh, Taeyong leans back. Before Doyoung even asks, Taeyong is reaching up to pat his head. He brushes his palm down the side of Doyoung’s hair a couple times. Runs his fingers through the silky strands. Doyoung shakes the bangs out of his eyes to watch him better. Doyoung’s arms still haven’t released him.

“There’s your number three.” Taeyong says, trying to wiggle free.

Doyoung doesn’t let him go. “Hmm…”

“What?”

“Hyung.”

“What.”

“Will you kiss me? For real.”

Taeyong narrows his eyes. Does Doyoung deserve a kiss right now?

“I didn’t come to screw with you,” he goes on. “I just wanted to say good morning. I saw your text when I woke up so I came to find you. You look really cute today and when I saw you by the door I couldn’t—”

Taeyong pushes his mouth against Doyoung’s. There. Doyoung stops talking. He tastes the faint yet distinct flavor of coffee on his lips. Doyoung doesn’t seem to want to complain though. Almost immediately, he captures Taeyong’s lip between his own, smiling the entire time. A hand comes up to caress the back of Taeyong’s neck. Taeyong closes his eyes. Maybe what he said last night had really been some sort of Freudian slip, because he can’t pretend he doesn’t want to kiss his boyfriend. Can’t lie past his own conscience like that. His eyes close. Mmm.

“Good morning~” Taeyong hears a chipper voice from behind them. 

His eyes fly open. 

Yuta sings his way into the kitchen, and then he stops. It takes him only a split second to process the information, and after that he doesn’t bat an eye. “Get a room~” He sings as he swings past them for the cupboards.

Within the span of eight seconds, Taeyong watches Yuta pluck a bowl from the rack, dump a handful of cereal from the box, and efficiently step around them to the fridge on the other side, carefully avoiding even looking at their joined configuration like it’ll make his eyes bleed. Taeyong flushes. _ Sorry Yuta _, he wants to say. When Taeyong tries to pull away, Doyoung doesn’t let him go. Instead, he sticks his tongue in his mouth. Taeyong’s eyes bulge wide. 

“An apple a day~” 

Yuta hums to himself. He takes out an apple from the fridge with the cheerfulness of someone in a big tooth costume filming a dentist commercial.

Inside their mouths, Doyoung is twirling their tongues together.

“And there’s no more milk~” 

Taeyong watches him pull out the carton and peek inside the spout.

“Mm,” Doyoung moans into their kiss.

Nakamoto Yuta turns to them, for the first time. He looks down at the cup on the kitchen counter. Math runs through his head. When he looks up, he stares Taeyong dead in the eyes as he pours the remaining couple of drops of milk into Doyoung’s waiting mug of coffee.

Doyoung retracts his tongue. Fucking finally. Taeyong’s about to choke. “Ohh. Thanks, hyung,” he says, wiping his lips with the back of his hand.

“You’re welcome.” 

Yuta flashes them a smile from ear to ear, his eyes narrowing into crescents. He doesn’t make any comments. Doesn’t have to say anymore. It’s the third time this week. _ Why is he always here? _ Thinks Taeyong. In any case. The betrayed look in his eyes lets them know that he’s already dead inside.

Yuta drops his abandoned bowl on the table next to Taeyong’s plate of bagel and heads for the door. There’s a spring in his step, he’s resumed singing and it’s freaking Taeyong out. “Off to buy some milk~” he whistles, “and some new eyes~”, Taeyong catches as he rounds the corner.

Taeyong is dazed.

He spins back around.

He gapes at Doyoung, scandalized. Doyoung is laughing but trying so hard to suppress it that he’s wheezing. 

“Dongyoung, what the fuck?!”

Doyoung’s shoulders are rocking from the force. 

Taeyong finally pries off the arms around his waist. He shoves away from his shithead boyfriend. Then it occurs to him. This stupid game isn’t over. He takes a step back. Yanks Doyoung away from the counter. Whips him around and slaps him across the bum with all his strength. 

It ends up sounding nothing more than a soft puff when his hand meets Doyoung’s sweatpants. 

He tries again and again, smacking his ass as hard as he can. 

“There’s your—” _ Smack _ . “Number—” _ Smack _. “Four!” His hand starts to hurt, and Doyoung is keeling over with laughter. Taeyong gives up. Doyoung slumps down back against the counter clutching his stomach, and Taeyong glares at him from above. Asshole. He’s never kissing him again.

“I think we broke him.”

“_ You— _ ” Taeyong’s ready to kick him. “ _ There is no _ ‘we’!”

“I _ have manners _!” 

Taeyong stomps away, leaving the pathetic heap of Doyoung on the cold floor where he belongs. Taeyong swipes his bagel and shoves it in his mouth. “_ God _!” He rips his laptop off the desk and storms out of the room. 

Taeyong doesn’t say a word to him for the rest of the day.

**Author's Note:**

> why the fuck did I write this...


End file.
